I Love You
by Melanie Athene
Summary: Dean has lost Cas before, but this latest in a series of losses was something else entirely. Coda to episode 12x12.


Dean has lost Cas before. Has seen the poor bastard popped like a balloon; watched him wade into the water leaving nothing behind but his trench coat; was too late to prevent a reaper bitch from skewering him with an angel blade. But this latest in a series of losses was something else entirely. Something that set him to dry heaving over the toilet late that night, when the Bunker was quiet and still, and sleep wouldn't come, no matter how hard he tried.

Dean's eyes watered as his stomach continued to convulse, as his throat tightened with the urge to puke or scream – anything to rid him of the vision of Cas dying, black goo oozing from his mouth and blood... oh fuck, the blood was everywhere.

Dean clung to the cold porcelain bowl with both hands, as if his life depended on it. As if it was a bottle of Jack offering the comfort of oblivion. As if it was the angel he longed to hold.

How many times was he going to have to watch Cas die?

And, yes, he didn't die this time, but damn, it was a close thing – too close.

 _But it didn't happen,_ he told himself. _Cas is okay. He's just down the hall. Resting. Sleeping, perhaps. It's been a hell of a day, but it's over. He's safe. He's here._

Dean swallowed and slowly staggered to his feet. The tap squeaked when he gave it a rough twist. The ice-cold water he splashed on his face trickled down his cheeks like tears. His eyes, when he finally dared to lift them to the mirror, were red-rimmed, as if he actually had been crying. And who knew? Maybe there was a bit of salt water mixed in there with the fresh.

Who could blame him?

It's not every day you watch your best friend die. Almost die.

Or maybe, in Cas' case, it was every other day. That damned angel had used up more lives than a cat.

One day, his luck would run out. One day, Dean wouldn't get him back. Would never have the chance to tell him...

Yet again, Dean found himself dry heaving over the toilet.

He didn't know which thought frightened him the most: losing Cas for good... or telling him that he loved him too.

 _Man up, Winchester,_ he told himself. _Man up. If Cas can say it, so can you._

If only it was that easy.

It had taken being on the brink of death for the confession to spill from the angel's lips.

Of course, given the lives they led, chances were that moment would roll around again all too soon. And Dean would be close to death or dying – or Cas would be (again). And maybe, just maybe, then Dean would have the opportunity to say those three little words. Or maybe – much more probably – the words would catch in his throat, and the secret would go with him to his grave, or Castiel would die not knowing that his love was returned a hundredfold.

Either option was too terrible to contemplate, and far too likely to come true. The future was a looming cesspool of misfortune and pain and danger. So many ifs, whens and maybes...

The present was, perhaps, the only moment in time they might be sure of having before the next shit storm hit. Here. Now. Now was the time to go to Cas and spill out all the feelings he'd had bottled up inside for... how many years? Too many. Too damned many.

Dean straightened up and squared his shoulders. _I'm going to do it,_ he thought. _I'm going to march myself over to Cas' room – assuming I don't trip over my own two feet and bash my head in on the way. Assuming Cas hasn't sneaked off to go another round with Lucifer. Assuming I don't run into Sam in the hallway..._

 _No,_ he told himself sharply. _Nothing. Nothing is going to stop me. If he's asleep, I'll wake him. If he's gone, I'll track him down. As for Sam... he can damned well get out of my way._

Never had the Bunker's hallway seemed so long and so short at the same time. It seemingly took an eon to traverse it – yet he stood before the closed door of Cas's room almost before he had time to blink.

A light was on. He could see it softly creeping out into the darkened hall. A lesser glow than the unbearable brilliance of an angel going supernova. Reassuringly so. Warm. Inviting.

Dean raised his hand and let his knuckles graze against the door, ready to flee back to his own room if there was no answer, if Cas had fallen asleep with the light on, if he'd rather be left alone...

"Come in, Dean," a low voice intoned.

Dean cracked the door open and peeked inside.

Castiel was seated on the edge of the bed, just reaching over to place the book he had been reading on the nightstand. He looked strangely naked, clad only in an old pair of Dean's sleep pants and a faded AC/DC T-shirt. His feet were bare, his toes curled in the shag of the little mat Dean had scrounged up to make his room feel more homey. There was no sign of his trench coat or ruined shirt. Maybe he'd discarded them in the laundry room, or left them in a pile on the bathroom floor when he'd showered. His hair was still damp and uncharacteristically slicked down, though stubborn little wisps of curls were forming at the edges as it dried.

He looked... human.

He smelled... heavenly. A rich, heady mixture of soap and shampoo and something uniquely Cas.

"I– I–" Dean stammered. Cleared his throat to try again.

"You couldn't sleep," Castiel said. It was not a question.

"I couldn't sleep." Dean nodded. "I've been... um..."

"You've been thinking." Castiel stood and padded over to the door. Gently, he took Dean by the arm and drew him inside, using his other hand to firmly close the door behind them. Shutting out the world. Shutting out everything but the blue of his eyes, the warmth of his hand, the quiet strength that emanated from his deceptively slight body.

"I've been, uh, wondering..."

"If I meant what I said," Castiel concluded gravely. "I did. I do. I love you, Dean. I love all of you."

"All of us, you mean?"

"That too, but that wasn't what I meant. I love _you,_ Dean Winchester. All of _you._ All of your virtues, all of your faults. The way you sacrifice yourself for others, the way you can't see your own worth. I love the way your soul glows when you smile. I love the way you never give up, even when things are at their darkest. And I know all this makes you uncomfortable, but I refuse to apologize for how I feel. I–"

"– love you."

Castiel's hand dropped to his side and he stumbled back a few steps. "You... what?" he breathed.

"I love you, Cas."

"You mean... like a brother? That's... wonderful, Dean. It's probably more than I deserve, and I thank you for saying it. I know 'chick flick' moments don't come easily to you. But you have to understand that what I feel goes far beyond familial ties. Not that I have any untoward expectations of you. I just want you to know. I just – "

"I love you," Dean said, following the angel's retreat and cupping his hands on either side of his disbelieving face. "Not like a brother – though I gotta admit it started out that way. But, trust me, I have never thought about Sam the way I think of you. The way I want to touch you. Be with you. In whatever way you'll have me."

"Dean – "

"So, when I say I love you, I mean that I'm _in love_ with you. And I sincerely hope that's what you're saying too. Because if we do this, Cas – _when_ we do this – I'm not fooling around. This is it for me – _you_ are it for me. You have been for a long time. And I don't want to waste another, single minute of whatever time remains to us."

"Oh, Dean," Castiel sighed. "Of course, I'm in love with you."

"Then, we're good here." Dean nodded decisively, the butterflies in his stomach settling into a solid sense of contentment unlike any he had ever experienced before.

"Yes, Dean. We're good."

A smile graced Castiel's lips, and Dean found himself staring at it, tracing its shape with his eyes, before lifting his gaze back up to meet the angel's oh-so-familiar stare.

"I... I'm not sure what happens next," Castiel admitted after several, long, silent moments had passed.

"We'll make it up as we go." Dean chuckled, observing with pleasure how the angel shivered when the hunter trailed gentle fingers down his face, across his lips, and finally let his hand slide back and around until it curled possessively at the nape of his neck. Slowly, carefully, he drew Castiel's face closer and closer to his own. "But I think we'll start with this," he whispered, his breath teasing at half-parted lips.

If Castiel had any further questions, they were more than answered in the tender passion of their first kiss.


End file.
